


Where She Comes In

by Emmeebee



Series: QLFC Season 5 [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco as a werewolf, Family, Gen, Half-Blood Prince AU, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 02:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmeebee/pseuds/Emmeebee
Summary: After the Dark Lord condemns Draco to a life of lycanthropy, Narcissa does what she can to help her son.





	Where She Comes In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for QLFC Round 8 by Chaser 1 for Montrose Magpies  
> Prompt: Draco Malfoy is actually a werewolf, not a Death Eater (The Kawaii Neko's headcanon)  
> Optional prompts: (word) elegant; (object) suitcase; (word) possible  
> Thank you to my teammates for betaing this for me and to my brother Kaayvan for answering my various, "X or Y?" texts.  
> Word count: 3000 on Google Docs (after so much whittling down)

Narcissa Malfoy had always prided herself on being perceptive. The slightest hints of hesitation or deception were like shouts to her ears: loud, clear, and very, _very_ obvious. Most of the time, the ability was useful, allowing her to read those around her and prepare accordingly. Now, however, she couldn't help but wish she could live in ignorance for even just a few seconds longer.

"You know the price of failure," the Dark Lord was saying as he stared down at the place she was kneeling on the floor. His voice was matter-of-fact, but she could sense the glee that hid behind his words.

"Forgive us, my lord," she pleaded, her gaze fixed on the shining ballroom floor. It was like she was in the final act of a play; she knew that the character she portrayed was hurtling headfirst towards tragedy, but she had to say her lines anyway. "It will not happen again."

"It is not me whom you should be begging for forgiveness," he replied. "It's your son."

Narcissa tensed as the dread that had been creeping up on her ever since she heard about what happened at the Ministry finally reared its ugly head and struck, its fangs sinking into her heart and sending its bitter poison flowing through her. She had assumed that Lucius would bear the brunt of the punishment—or, given his absence, that she would take it in his place.

 _Not Draco,_ she thought, her dignified mask cracking and revealing true fear for the first time that evening. "He's too young to take the Mark. He's still just a boy!"

"I agree. Even Dumbledore would discover him before long, and then he would be of no use to me. Nevertheless, there must be consequences." The words hung in the air between them, dark and dangerous and terrifying. Then, as lightly as if he were inquiring about her morning, he concluded, "I will give him to Greyback. He has been complaining about not being able to expand his pack; your Draco will make a rather nice addition, don't you think?"

Her pulse pounded in her ears as desperate pleas slipped out of her mouth, but she knew they would fall on deaf ears. The one thing that she knew for certain about the Dark Lord was that, as unpredictable as he might be, he was too proud to change his mind once he had issued an order. Nothing she said would dissuade him.

Many vile things had occurred in her beautiful home in the short time since the Dark Lord's arrival. Each and every time, she had adopted a smile that was a little too strained to be real and let her mind wander as far and as long as it could. This, however, was impossible to ignore. He had the gall to come into _her_ home and threaten _her_ son. The sheer, violent rage that swelled within her was almost overwhelming. She had never been particularly enamoured with the Dark Lord—not like her husband, who had once admired him—but this was the first time she detested him.

She would have killed him then and there if she had thought she might succeed.

-x-

Seeing her only son off to Hogwarts was never an easy thing. It might be the best school in Britain in terms of academia, but it didn't have a good track record when it came to student safety. This year, saying goodbye was particularly painful. Ever since the Dark Lord had let Greyback into his room on the night of the full moon, Draco had become increasingly subdued, eating little and sleeping less. At home, at least, Narcissa was there to watch over him and do what she could to make him take care of himself. At school, he would have no one. She had asked Pansy to keep an eye on him, pretending that she was just being overprotective, but she didn't expect the girl to have much success. Draco had inherited her stubbornness.

"Draco," she whispered, casting a quick charm so that nobody would overhear them, "remember what I told you: take care of yourself and keep your head down."

"I remember," he replied. "I should be the one telling _you_ that, though. You're the one living with that monst—"

"Not here," she cut in. What Draco had been about to say would have been enough to get them both killed. She trusted her spell, but she knew better than to think it was infallible. Watching his eyebrows furrow the way they always did when he was being obstinate, she added, "I can protect myself, Draco. It's you I'm worried about."

He rolled his eyes. Four months ago, she would have chided him for his disrespect; now, she was just glad to see him acting like himself again. "You don't have to be."

"Humour me." A smile played on her lips for a moment before she sobered again. "Dumbledore assured me that nobody but Severus and Pomfrey will know; if anyone else finds out, tell me immediately, and I will pull any string I have to in order to keep them from talking."

-x-

As Narcissa entered the corner office on the twelfth floor, she took a moment to survey her surroundings. Simple and efficient, it contained only the bare necessities; a desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The only thing that was out of the ordinary was a suitcase that was resting against the front of the desk. Her interior designer would have been appalled at the sight. But as long as Mr Flynn lived up to his reputation as the lead specialist into the effects of lycanthropy, Narcissa didn't care what his office looked like.

"Mrs Malfoy," he said, rising to greet her. "It's a pleasure to have you here. I trust you didn't have any trouble finding the building?"

"Since I am capable of reading a map, you trust correctly." Closing the door behind her, she walked over to the empty chair and settled into it, resting her hands in her lap. "You know why I'm here, of course."

"There's only one reason anyone ever is," he admitted before sinking into his own chair.

 _And it's not the welcoming décor,_ she thought. "My contact informed me that you're working on a cure but are in dire need of funding. Personally, I am looking to expand my family's investment portfolio into more philanthropic endeavours. As you can imagine, our public image has taken quite a hit since Lucius' arrest. I would like to remedy that."

Mr Flynn nodded but remained silent.

"I believe this is the part where you pitch yourself to me," she said almost conspiratorially as she leaned forward in her chair, trying not to let her annoyance seep into her voice.

"What? Oh—yes! Yes, of course." He flushed red and shuffled through the parchment on his desk. "You see, the way lycanthropy works is that it distorts a person's magical core, fundamentally changing them. If I can find a way to isolate the part of the magical core that it affects, I should be able to find a way to reverse it—or, at the very least, to defend against it."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. His reasoning sounded solid enough, yet something about his demeanour didn't sit well with her. She had chaired enough business meetings to be able to sense whether someone was nervous or plain incompetent. With him, she was getting strong signals for both. "How far along are you?"

"Not very, unfortunately. Playing around with someone's magical core is a dangerous thing, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"And how long have you been working on this?"

"Fifteen years," he admitted. "But I've been held back by the lack of funding. The Ministry would love to have a cure for lycanthropy, but since their current stance is that werewolves aren't real wizards, it's a low priority for them. Your money could be the thing that makes the difference."

"I thought you said that the issue was the danger," she shot back. "Galleons won't solve that, will they?"

As he spluttered and tried to make a case for why it could, Narcissa's gaze drifted back to the suitcase. Black and sleek, its position against the desk put it in full view of her. It was curious, really; it would have been much more practical to have it on his side of the desk so that he could reach it easily. Neater, too. Given his minimalist design, she would have thought that would have mattered to him. Its position must have been deliberate; an attempt to appear more professional, perhaps. For a moment, she wondered whether there was even anything inside. Maybe it was as empty as his head and his promises.

"I don't trust you," she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "However, this cause is close to my heart, and you're the only healer in Britain who is willing to tackle it. As such, I will fund your research—however, I expect regular progress reports, and if I feel that my money is being misused, I will withdraw my support without hesitation."

She doubted that he would be successful, and even if he were, it would not be for a good few years yet. Still, as long as there was a chance that it would help Draco, she had nothing to lose by humouring him.

-x-

As her son stepped off the Hogwarts Express and onto the busy platform, Narcissa felt her heart ache. Her precious boy, once so elegant and put-together, now looked tired and haggard; his eyes were weary, and his face was so pale and gaunt that he looked ill. She had tried to prepare herself for seeing the toll the transformations had taken on him, but nothing could have desensitised her to seeing him like this. She wanted to sweep him up in her arms and whisk him away to somewhere where he would be safe and free from prosecution, but now that he was a werewolf, she doubted any such place existed.

 _It's better than him being a Death Eater,_ she told herself. _This way, at least, Draco will have some level of protection no matter which way the war goes. If the Dark Lord wins, he will have the option of entering his service properly. If Dumbledore does, he can play on the man's infamous sense of compassion to win his support._

It was little consolation for what he was sure to be going through, but it was something.

"Unfortunately, I have some errands to run before we can return to the manor," she said, not mentioning the fact that she had deliberately left them until _after_ she picked him up in order to give them some precious time alone together. "Would you mind terribly if we don't get back until sundown? I know you must be eager to return."

He smiled, relief lighting up his eyes. "Not at all."

By the time they returned home three hours later, she knew everything about his time at Hogwarts over the past few months. Well, perhaps not everything—she could tell that there were some things he was holding back—but definitely most of it.

No matter how tight-lipped he tried to be, she had always been able to get him to talk.

Usually, Narcissa would have felt a rush of pride at the thought. As it was, however, it did nothing to ease her dismay. The memory of his quiet, restrained voice recounting the pain of his transformations and his fear that Potter, who had been tailing him since the start of term, might have figured something out rattled around in her head, creating a cacophony of sound that she just couldn't think beyond. Mr Flynn was proving himself to be as useless as she had suspected, and Harry Potter was as close to untouchable as anyone. Both sides wanted him to be left alone for the time being, so she couldn't use her contacts to arrange a meeting. And even if she managed to get close enough to bribe him to keep quiet, he would probably be too _noble_ to take it. She had reassured Draco that that probably meant he was above blackmail as well, but they both knew that Gryffindors could be unpredictable.

As they stood at the front door of the manor, Narcissa pulled Draco into a tight hug. "Clear your mind," she whispered into his ear, making sure to move her mouth as little as possible. She didn't let go until she felt him nod. As she withdrew, she forced her own mind to go blank and then filled it with memories of shopping and laughing—the truth, but far from the whole truth.

She knew she might be being paranoid, but in that day and age, paranoia was what kept people alive.

-x-

Narcissa had never imagined a time when she might _want_ her son to live far away from her. Within a few days of Draco's return, however, she had reached that point. The Dark Lord was going out of his way to single him out, never letting a meeting pass without making a veiled reference to his condition. Apparently, forcing lycanthropy on the boy wasn't enough; he took great pleasure in _gloating_ about it. The barbed comments were subtle enough that someone who didn't already know the secret wouldn't guess it, but Narcissa caught each and every one. The indignity of watching her son be mocked and tormented in the 'safety' of their own home infuriated her. But she knew, just as she had when the punishment had first been announced, that nothing she said would make any difference. So she gritted her teeth together and forced herself to hold her tongue.

Despite her compliance, something shifted within her in the face of his cruelty. What the night Draco became a werewolf had started, the days the Dark Lord mocked him finished. Before she went to bed that night, she wrote a letter. The day after Draco returned to the relative safety of Hogwarts, she sent it off with her fastest owl, hoping that the cover of darkness would hide his departure.

-x-

With a loud crack, Narcissa appeared in front of the small shack in the woods where she and her sisters had played as children. It was within walking distance of their family's summer home, so they had frequently sneaked off to gossip and play board games away from their parents' curious ears. She hadn't been back since Andromeda's elopement, but it had seemed like an appropriate place to meet. It was isolated enough that no one would happen upon them accidentally, and she had been able to keep the letter vague enough that no one other than Andromeda would work out where she meant. There were other ways to get an audience with Albus Dumbledore, but this was, by far, the quickest and most subtle. As much as it pained her, she had even mentioned Draco being in danger, knowing that it was the only thing that would convince her sister that she was genuine.

As Narcissa pushed open the front door and stepped into the all-too-familiar room, her breath caught in her throat. Her sister was standing by the empty fireplace, her eyes hard. Narcissa let out a shaky breath. She had requested Andromeda's presence, but she hadn't realised how much seeing her again would throw her.

"Narcissa," a calm voice said, and she tore her gaze away from her sister to focus on the Headmaster, who was standing on the other side of the room.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today," she said, her eyes glancing back to her sister. "I wasn't sure whether I should expect to see you or an empty room."

"I did consider that your letter might be a trap. Curiosity compelled me to come anyway."

Over the years, she had learned to wield silence like a weapon, using it to avoid being the first to stick her neck out and to entice confessions that would not otherwise have been given. This time, however, she knew that she would have to be the first to yield; they had nothing at stake, whereas she had everything. "I'm concerned about my son's welfare," she said. "I will help you take down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named if you give me your word that my son and husband will both be safe."

"The last time we were here, I asked you to stand by me as a sister, and you refused," Andromeda said, almost scowling at the memory. "How do we know we can trust you now?"

"I'm willing to make an Unbreakable Vow."

Andromeda looked surprised, but Dumbledore didn't. "That is why you invited your sister, I assume… I had been wondering." He hesitated for a moment, his expression thoughtful, before nodding once. "Very well. We will make a Vow."

When the final tongue of flame had faded into their wrists, Dumbledore turned to Andromeda. "I understand that the two of you have much to talk about, but I am afraid I need to speak with your sister alone. Would you be willing to return in an hour?"

Andromeda nodded and, with one last glance at Narcissa, Disapparated.

In the silence after the crack faded, Dumbledore turned back to Narcissa. "There are certain things that need to be found and destroyed before Voldemort can be killed. However, I will be dead by the end of the year. I hope to destroy as many of them as possible first, and I am giving Harry the knowledge he needs to continue in my absence, but there is still much that we do not know."

"That's where I come in," she guessed. She was curious about why he was so certain he would die, but the most pressing issue was finding out what he needed from her.

"That's where you come in," he agreed. "Narcissa, what do you know about Horcruxes?"


End file.
